The horses whinnied as Mikahl, Vaegon, and Hyden were forced to cram against them in the now over crowded space. For a moment, Vaegon thought that the giant’s fur covered boots were going to end up in the fire, and Hyden had a flashback of watching Gerard riding his father’s back around the fire when he was a boy. If any of the group dared to climb on the giant’s back, it would have looked about the same.
Mikahl, with his hands protectively on Ironspike’s hilt, was still trying to get his breath. The giant was huge, and Mikahl kept comparing him to what he had expected him to be like. The breed giants at Coldfrost, had been eight to nine feet tall at best. Their faces were crude, with wet, slightly upturned noses, jutting jaws, and a single thick brow, that ran unbroken over both eyes and across the bridge of the nose. They were wild and primal, half man, half beast. Borg, even on all fours cooing like an excited farm wife at a cloth merchant’s lace display, was nothing like them at all. He was more like an excited child, an excited human child. Since the giant’s attention had shifted from Ironspike, Mikahl let himself relax, but only a little bit. He absently patted Windfoot’s flanks and watched as Loudin and Borg hogged most of the space the cavern offered, and argued about a price for the skin.
Borg wanted the thing, that was obvious. He said he would have to take a short journey to fetch the amount of gold, and other items that Loudin wanted in exchange for the roll. He explained to Mikahl that he would take the scrolls to King Aldar, and bring back the King’s responses. It might take him three days to return, but they could wait for him in the relative warmth of the valley beyond this ridge.
“What of the sword?” Mikahl asked dutifully, if a little reluctantly.
King Balton had told him to present it to the giant king, but in truth, Mikahl didn’t want to part with it now. He had grown attached to the strength and confidence it gave him. He wasn’t about to let Borg take it. If he had to hand it over, he would only hand it over to King Aldar himself.
“If my King requires it, he or I will return for it,” Borg said, with his eyes glued to the jeweled hilt. “It is far easier for my people to travel in these lands than it is for you.”
“Aye,” Mikahl agreed with a grateful bow. “I agree with you completely.”
He could spend the rest of his days happy if he never saw another snow-capped mountain peak in his life.
“If King Aldar does have to have the sword, I would only give it to him personally. I hope you understand.”
“So be it,” Borg replied flatly.
Hyden interrupted the exchange, and asked Borg if he knew the whereabouts of Berda, and a short private conversation between the two of them ensued. Eventually, Talon introduced himself by fluttering down and landing on Borg’s shoulder. The giant smiled broadly and commented on the healthy condition of the hawkling. Soon after, the giant bade them farewell.
Outside the cavern, a bitter wind howled through the darkness, but inside, it was warm and cozy. Hyden wished he had had the chance to make a kill. Fresh meat would have been a blessing, but dried meat and herbs would have to do this night. While Hyden helped Vaegon prepare the evening meal, Loudin joked with Mikahl.
“I would only give it to his grace!” the old Seawardsman said, in a mocking aristocratic tone, accompanied by a fancy bow.
“It’s formal courtesy,” Mikahl defended. “Manners and etiquette – things you’ll never understand.”
“It’s highfalutin nonsense,” the hunter laughed. “You should’ve just licked his boot.”
“Bah!” Mikahl waved him off. Then to the others at the fire, he said: “Did you see those skulls on his boots and belt? I wonder what sort of beast those are from.”
“Dread Wolves,” Hyden and Loudin answered in unison.
“When I was younger, they used to be as thick as the plague in these parts,” said Hyden. “They moved on, or died out after the bulk of them were killed off by the giant herdsmen.”
Mikahl suddenly remembered that some of the breed giants at Coldfrost had had big savage wolves for pets. One of them had torn Duke Silion, and two of his men, to shreds. Mikahl hadn’t seen it happen, but he had seen the aftermath. The bodies had still been warm and steaming in the crimson snow. A trail of silvery blue innards twisted away from the body of one man, who looked utterly shocked to be dead.
Mikahl had seen the wolf too. It had looked more like a huge porcupine, with all the arrows and crossbow bolts sticking up out of it. When the King’s guardsmen rolled it over, he saw the thing’s huge head and teeth. A man’s forearm was clamped in those jaws, the hand still gripping a nasty looking dagger hilt.
“I don’t think they died out,” he mumbled more to himself than the others.
“You don’t think that Pratchert’s wolf was a Dread Wolf do you?” Hyden asked the elf.
Mikahl looked at them as if their heads had just shrunken to the size of peaches.
“Not likely,” Vaegon answered. “Thanks to the giants, there are plenty of Dread Wolves roaming the Evermore Forest now. None of them seem to need to be shaved to survive the summer heat as Dahg Mahn’s wolf did. Pratchert’s wolf was most likely an Arctic Great Wolf, or one of its high range kindred.”